The Boy Who Was Loved
by colorsoftherainbow3006
Summary: Ronald Weasley isn't the same as his family. He's alone, and abused, and hurt in his head. He's only eleven, and they're killing him with words. (Molly bashing, almost a Severitus, but with Ron instead of Harry. Verbal abuse. No Romance. Purely family. Rated T. I have nothing against the actual character Molly Weasley, only my fictional representation. I do not own Harry Potter.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The boy watched from the shadows, his gaze unending. His brothers were playing, laughing together. When he asked to join in, they sniggered, and yelled at him to go away- they didn't play with babies.

He'd gone in search of his eldest brother- at this time he was going to be in his final year at school. The young man was studying, and had entertained the little boy for a while- but he had work to complete, for his N.E.W.T.'s, and he hadn't much time for his baby brother.

It seemed no one really did, these days.

The young child had tried to play with his sister, but she was only five. Five isn't very much compared with six, and she told on him all the time. She was Mummy's baby.

So he was by himself, on the swing-set, watching his siblings play catch. After a while, they went inside, but he kept swinging. Higher, and higher, and higher he went, giggling in the perfect portrayal of childish innocence. His shrieks of laughter echoed through the fields, rich with corn. it was, he believed, a very beautiful setting. He could take time to relish in it's beauty, he reasoned, because he wasn't playing stupid games like catch, or quidditch. So maybe he was better on his own.

It was dusk- the sun was setting, and a strange pink haze had settled over the fields, and the strange home in front of him. He leapt into the air, the force from the swing propelling him, relishing in the fact that he was flying- and he really was flying. He laughed, feeling the magic flow through his body, sending shivers up his spine. He could do magic, and perhaps that was best of all. His older twin brothers had not yet, and it was just last week when his other brother did- though his mother had commented on how surprisingly late it was.

He landed on the rain soaked grass- it had been showering a while, and the young boy was just as wet as the sodden ground. He lay back, the water weighing him down, pulling him into the mossy heaven.

It was always the right thing, mused the child, to look on the bright side of the world. If his siblings had not let him play catch, if his brother had not had work to do, and if his sister had not been five, then perhaps he would not be here, lying in his own paradise.

A paradise soon shattered. His fretful mother was calling, and he traipsed back to the house, she yelled at him. "You ungrateful boy! Come here, and get changed! You don't deserve dinner!"

Or that was the gist of it, anyway.

His mother never liked him as much as the others anyway, he easily bored her. He could occupy himself in his own paradise, and there he'd never be lonely. He was just a little boy. Nobody else could ever experience his imagination, and nobody else could ever understand him.

He wished he had stayed outside. If he had, he supposed, he could pretend his family loved him- he wasn't always sure that they did. Maybe his oldest brother did, but that was it, he decided. Nobody else did- and perhaps he was right. The poor little boy was quite unloved.

It was being in the middle that did it- or maybe being near the bottom, but not quite. Not the oldest and not the youngest. Not the best behaved, not the funniest, and not the coolest. Not the one obsessed with dragons and not the girl.

Just him.

As he lay in bed that night, his little mind started whirring, busying itself with evil wizards and witches, and King Arthur, and Merlin. He got up, and padded towards his window, silently opening it, and climbing out, onto the rough oak branches beside it. It was convenient, because he love the darkness of night, and the outsideness, of being outside. It was convenient, that he should be able to climb out, into the depth of the dark, gnarled oak tree.

He sat next to a beautiful owl in the middle of the trunk. He stroked her glossy, pearly feathers, as he whispered to her.

"I'm different. But I think I like it."

The owl hooted softly, and landed on his pajama-clad shoulder, as if in agreement.

"They don't like it, though."

The snowy owl burrowed into his neck affectionately- this was, perhaps, some of the only affection the small boy had really ever gotten.

"I don't mind. I can be better than them, and that's what counts." He held the little owl to his face- the wind was chilly that night. "I'm already magical, do you know what this means?" The owl, which he'd lovingly christened Mumi, nipped his ear. "I'm more powerful. Than the rest I mean." He carried on talking, because though Mumi was just an owl, she was clever, and she loved him enough to understand him. "I can do magic when I'm six. But the rest of my brother's didn't do it till they were ten." He crinkled his nose. "I don't know about the twins, they haven't yet though, and I have and I'm younger." He yawned. "Daddy hasn't got a very good job. We're very poor, you know." Murmuring one last thing to the owl, he stood to make his way back across the branch. "Daddy never really got it right, did he? He married Mother, and he got a bad job, and he had seven children. We're so many, and I'm missed out. I'm going to do it right though." His pledge rippled across the stars. "I'm going to do it all right. Nobody can stop me."

He climbed back into his tiny bed. He was growing too long for it, but no-one had noticed.

His exhausted body curled up into a ball, and he let out a long, suffering sigh, before falling asleep, a smile gracing his little, cherub-like face.

Ronald Weasley was different, and he was going to show the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Ron stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He looked like any ordinary eleven year old, he supposed. His robes were shabby, and second hand, and had a small tear in the corner. He suspected that these clothes were worn by the twins before him.

A spider scuttled along a crack in the floorboards, and Ron flinched away, bring his shoe down on the beast. The stomping noise echoed throughout the house, and Ron froze.

"Ronald Weasley! You better not be jumping up there!"

Ron relaxed slightly, "I'm not, Mother!"

"You'd better not be! Get ready, we're going to Diagon Alley today!"

Wincing slightly, he sat down heavily on his bed. His mother wouldn't be in the best of moods. She had supplies to buy… especially because they were for him. He reached under the mattress, pulling out a small pouch. He listened to the jangling noise the coins inside made. He'd known this day would come- known for years that unless he did something, he'd turn up to Hogwarts in the same, shabby state his brothers did. He had just short of thirty-four galleons in that pouch, enough for new robes, new shoes, and a new wand.

His parents were going to makes him use Charlie's old wand.

Charlie hadn't been too upset with the idea, most likely because their mother had pumped him full of stories depicting their financial troubles. Ron didn't mind Charlie, he was a good big brother, if not sometimes blinded.

Surprisingly, Bill had been the most vocal about it all. He'd given Ron seven galleons, adding to the lot Ron had saved up from birthdays and christmases, telling Ron to buy a wand himself.

Bill knew that their mother loved Ron less than the others, it was too blatantly obvious to miss that, but their mother was careful around the eldest, and also Charlie. She never maltreated him too badly around them.

He'd never shown them the bruises.

"Ronald Weasley!"

Hiding the money in his pocket, Ron traipsed downstairs.

"Honestly, we're going to be late!" Molly Weasley snapped at him. "Get your act together boy!"

"Yes Mother." He murmured as he reached the kitchen.

She threw him an irritated look, and Ron toed the ground with his shoe, blinking back tears. After all this time he'd thought it didn't affect him anymore, but he still longed for someone who loved him. It did affect him, and more than he'd like to think.

"Head high, Ronniekins!" George, or maybe it was Fred, nudged him in the arm, probably trying to cheer him up.

Ron didn't really appreciate the method. He'd always had a rocky relationship with the twins, they'd bullied him when he was much younger. Still, he could see the glances between them every time Mother was mean to him. Their brotherhood, or at the very least friendship, was salvageable.

He managed a small grin at whichever twin it was, before grasping a handful of floo powder.

"Get on with it boy!" Hissed their mother, shoving him forward, and smacking his behind. He gasped in pain, leaping into the fireplace, cowed by the anger shown, and flinching when a hand was raised.

"Diagon Alley!" He choked, dropping the floo powder in flash of green flames.

He tumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, suffocating on ash. A large hand gripped his shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

"You alright, lad?" Tom the bar-keeper asked, concerned.

Ron coughed. "S-sure." He sucked in another breath. "I'm fine." He turned his head around the place, surveying the grimy stools and less than savourable folk inhabiting them.

He'd never been to Diagon Alley before. His mother never saw fit to take him. Everything he owned was inevitably going to be castoff's from his brothers, so why let him see the delights of modern wizarding society?

Not that anything was particularly delightful at the moment.

Just that second, Percy appeared, stepping gracefully out of the fireplace. "There you are, Ron." He commented placidly, placing a hand on the small boy's shoulder. Ron was grateful for his calmness. Percy was incredibly stiff and proper, and yet was perhaps the only person in his dysfunctional family who really, properly looked out for him. Bill and Charlie were in completely different countries (Egypt and Romania), and the twins were too young at only thirteen to properly understand the abuse that had befallen their little brother. They just knew it was wrong.

"Come on." Percy tugged at Ron's shirt. "I assume you need to get your robes. Mum's not going to let you once she gets here."

Ron let himself be pulled away. Percy knew about his savings, of course. Only his three eldest brothers knew.

"Percy, what will she say when she finds out we disappeared?"

"She might be angry, most likely at you, kiddo." There was no point in lying. Ron was exceptionally bright. They found themselves in Madam Malkin's robe shop. A place Ron had only heard stories about.

"Hogwarts students?" Madam Malkin was an elderly witch with bright eyes and a nice smile. Ron found himself melting under the affection.

"My little brother needs school robes."

"Right." Madam waved a hand to a stool in the corner. "Let's get you all fitted up then, dear."

Ron allowed himself to be led towards the stool, where he stood, anxiously, as if his mother would walk in here at any moment.

Percy was slowly walking around the shop, eyeing the materials, and the price tags- he too had saved some, but he wasn't sure whether he really wanted new robes.

"Ron, what do you think of there?" He asked, pointing towards a fabric of midnight blue.

"Dress robes?" Ron asked in surprise. He hadn't known Percy wanted dress robes.

"Yeah, well.." Percy shifted slightly self-consciously, "The ministry's looking to take me on as an intern for a week at Easter, and I need to look well presented."  
Ron's mouth was open slightly in shock. "That's great Percy!" He grinned. "Can I come and see the ministry one day?"

"Probably." Percy nodded. "But don't get too disappointed if I'm not allowed to take you."

Ron smiled. Suddenly a tape measure whipped across his chest, and around his middle. Madam Malkin clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Far too skinny, child." She sighed. "Though you are small for your age- you might just grow out as well as up." She sighed. "Now, let me just get some fabric."

Ron looked up to see Percy narrowing his eyes at him. "You know, you're far smaller than the twins were at eleven."

"It's just how I was born." Ron smiled weakly.

Percy shook his head. "No." He objected. "I wasn't that small. Neither were Charlie, or Bill. And never that skinny." He rubbed his hand over his face, his gaze suddenly fierce. "She's been starving you, hasn't she?"

Ron opened his mouth to deny it, but no sound came out.

"She has. She has." Percy whispered. "Oh my God."

Just then Madam Malkin returned, holding up a bundle of black material. "Now then dearies. I'll just pin this up here, and then…."

As she chattered away, Ron caught a significant glance from Percy. 'We'll talk about this later.' It said.

Ron closed his eyes. What was wrong with the world?


End file.
